


Siding with the angels

by WordlessWonders



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:51:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7065964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordlessWonders/pseuds/WordlessWonders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can't stay here, I'm a monster Sherlock! And I'll just hurt you too. "</p><p>It's been sixteen years since Sherlock lost his desire to love or feel and the girl who came with them, but with Jim Moriarty saying hello, could a master plan be in affect?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Siding with the angels

John sat back in his armchair, with a hot coffee, waiting for sleeping beauty. He sipped his coffee, closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift back to the night previous. 

The swimming pool, the bomb, Moriarty.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open as a light emitted from his jacket pocket. Groggily, he sat up; rubbed his head, and walked over to his jacket. It was a text from a blocked number.

It was as he suspected. A text from Moriarty. 

“ sorry, didn’t get a chance to give this to you last night, thought I should send you a little ’getting to know you present’”

There was a file attached. A set of three images. One depicted a road. It was a dirt track, well built, old. Probably an old state house or mill.

The next was of an ornate room with a four poster bed and large window, with a view of a lake.

Finally an oil painting of a young girl. Sherlock pondered this picture. The painting looked old, almost convincing even to Sherlock. But the girl was in modern atire. Sherlock recognised the girl, but dismissed her immediately. She wasn’t important . No, what was important was the brush stroke. A few years ago he had solved a case with a counterfeiter, Jackson Reeves. This was his work. He was certain. The only problem was that Sherlock had seen him get his life sentence. This has been long in the planning.

 

Grabbing his coat and scarf, Sherlock headed towards the door- when he had got dressed, he couldn’t answer but he still ran out in his favourite suit and called up a cab. He has noticed in the past few months that the cabbies of London spent most of their time at his house and crime scenes, waiting for him.

Plotting a route in his head he guided the cabbie directly to the train station before getting on a train to Manchester, then to Glossop before carrying on a bus to a small village in the peak district named Hayde Edge. From the centre of the village he walked briskly to the old church. Why here, he heard himself question Moriarty. After so long, why here. Sighing, he stepped inside the large spacious hall, scanning it for any irregularities. He was about to take another step forwards when he heard his phone ring, this had alarmed him slightly, but he kept composure. Looking at his screen he saw it was John. He contemplated declining the call, to show the doctor he didn’t wish to explain himself. However, sentiment getting the better of the sociopath he decided to turn it on silent and let it ring out. He let his eyes settle on the room in front of him. Nothing seemed to have changed… except for the door to the vicars room. It had a new door.

Tentatively he opened the door. It felt heavier in his grasp. His heart was pounding as memories flooded Sherlock’s mind, before everything went black...

“Oh god, please let him wake up, please… shit, I thought it was Jim… oh god, please wake up…” you thoughts were furious as you waited by the entrance with your next accidental victim.

Slowly, you saw a furrowing brow, a pale hand fluttering to lift his tangled curls out of his eyes, as they too became a very bright, crystalline, angry shade of blue.   
Staring you dead in the face he questioned “ Do you always attack your knights in shining armour?”

"Damsel or not; I still would have escaped on my own, if you hadn’t of turned up, if anything your more of the dragon in my way than my knight."

“Well, I’ve been called that before…”


	2. Introductions aside...

"so, since you’ve stopped trying to attack me, would care to explain what your doing back in London. ”

You were in a cab taking you from the train station to Sherlock’s house- 221B Baker Street, he had said.  
“I was in Moscow.I was in need of a friend. Some help. But as I lay staring at St Basil’s when Jim Moriarty came up to me. He offered me a job. I was working with him for a year before he first kissed me. We were together for two years, before your name came up. He told me he wanted to play a game with you. I said no. He has tried to contact you four times before. Every time I stopped him. He threw me away like I was nothing. I guess to him I always was.”

“Oh, (Y/N)- (y/n),(y/n), (y/n) you have been many things in the time I knew you but never nothing.”

Raising your eyebrows you gazed at him. Even in the past you and him had never been close. But as you gazed into his eyes you saw both the happiness at your return and the sorrow of your leaving. You felt compelled to explain. It wasn’t his fault, you just couldn’t stay there. 

“Sherlock, I-” you began.

“Ah, we’re here. Oh, look! There’s John. I wonder what he’s looking so angry about."

Looking out the cab window you saw a short man with blonde hair and a furrowed brow start yelling as Sherlock stepped out the cab and payed the driver. 

"Calm down, John. We have a guest.”

"Calm down! Calm- Sherlock you’ve been gone for hours and haven’t even had the courtesy to text me to say you were ok! I-” John’s breath hitched as his gaze met yours. You smiled sweetly and batted your eyelashes. “ yeah, alright I could calm down a little…”

John, in a slight daze, gave you a big grin before turning around and following Sherlock into the house. You to were abbout follow them in when, in his daze, John closed the door; leaving you outside. You stood back, refusing to knock. You folded your arms and waited. Eventually Sherlock opened the door, allowing you entrance. You walked straight upstairs, knowing it must be his main place of refuge if it has a grand stair case. 

You are beckoned to a small black leather chair positioned in front of the disused fireplace. You sit and watch Sherlock intently as he came to sit opposite you in John's chair.

“Tell me what happened. With Jim.”

“It’s-I- Sherlock it’s been sixteen years. I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me what happened between you and Jim.”

"I can’t” it wasn’t technically a lie. You were certain Jim wouldn’t like it. Until you receive a text.

“Tell him.  
-JM”

You took a deep breath and begun.


	3. My meeting in Moscow

November. Cold. Hungry. One word answers were about all you could muster. Even in your own head. Snow blistered around you and your thin summer coat. You sat hunched in a small archway, looming above you stood your goal. In just over six months you had travelled across most of Europe by foot and trekked to the centre of Russia, the very heart of the country. You weren’t going to give in lightly. St Basil’s Cathedral grew closer and closer as you travelled towards it.

“Rather chilly out here, won’t you come by mine to warm up?”

The voice was sweet. Irish, primarily, but I could tell he’d spent a long time in England. The South, I think.

“Rather curl up and die than admit I need help.”

He just smiled at me. It wasn’t an unpleasant smile, just not quite warming.  
“Well, at least agree to let me buy you a warm drink before you do begin to shrivel.”

My mouth began to twitch at the corners and offered him my hands to help me up. His hands were strong, his arms curled around me spreading a warmth through my whole body.

“How on earth did you find somewhere as sweet as this?“

He just smiled and winked at you.

He went up to the counter and ordered in fluent Russian. He guided you gently over to a small two seat table in front of the lapping flames in the fireplace.

“Here you go. And a special for you and your date Mr. Moriarty.”

The young blonde smiled so sweetly at him. You wondered if there was more to that than met the eye, but his puzzled look said not. He sat opposite you, staring deeply into your eyes; sipping sweetly at his mint-chocolate mocca.

You took a swig of your latte, letting the warmth shudder through your body.

"Why are you helping me?”

“My, why wouldn’t I help someone as beautiful as you?”

“Why is a nineteen year old uni dropout from Oxford strolling ‘round Moscow?”

“I could ask the same thing for dropping out of college. How did you know I was nineteen?”

“There’s a patch on your satchel for Oxford university. But, your credit card says your date of birth is nineteen years ago. To be nineteen and here you must either be on holiday or not attending anymore. I believed it’s more likely to be dropout because you have kept the bag. What else do you know about me?”

“Oh, everything of unimportance. Name, home, friends, family. Will you ever go back?”

“Holmfirth has nothing of importance to me anymore.” Your gaze hit your mug. You decided not to directly question how he knew so much about you. 

“What about your boyfriend?”

What…you didn’t have a boyfriend- unless…

“Did he employ you…my…boyfriend?”

He smiled, then laughed.

“No, no my dear… I’m…self employed.”

“What do you do?”

“ I…supply certain services.”

Smiling to yourself you leaned in closer to him. You were going to catch him off guard now. 

“How long have you done this for?”

He looked taken a back. 

“Little over a year. Be boring.”

You smiled to yourself. 

“Why?”

“I like this question.”

“Which question?”

“Don’t make me beg now, (y/n).”

Your noses were almost touching. Your lips dangerously close. You leaned further into him and ghosted his lips with your breath.

“What services do you supply?”

He inhaled deeply, a smile playing across his lips. Your lips met his as he pulled you into his predatory gaze.

“murder.”


	4. Off to a flying start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically lots of shouting, I will actually start having some actual action soon, I promise!

“Ok, so let me get this straight. She is the closest person to Moriarty in the world, has every reason to both go against him and straight back to him, she won’t explain much of her past with him or why he threw her out, but she’s going to live down stairs.”

John had soon lost his interest in you once Moriarty’s name came up. You were certain that it had peaked Sherlock’s interest, which was something. You never wanted to hurt him, even if you did leave. God, you remember when Jim told you about him. He is exactly what you were like. You sighed. No point in dwelling on it now. You were currently stood in the kitchen of your new landlady, Mrs Hudson, leaning on the kitchen table. 

“Ah! Here you are deary, those are your front door keys. I thought I’d give you one for the padlock incase Sherlock tries to sneak in. He has before. Now, you can call anytime you like. Goodness know I’m used to it. Those boys are usually up at the crack of dawn doing god knows what. And the mess they make in the kitchen! Well, I’ll leave you to settle in, I do hope the boys are nice to you. Sherlock isn’t really keen on new faces.”

And with that your new landlady was gone. You couldn’t help the laugh that surfaced. It isn’t Sherlock that’s not keen on having you around. 

You turned to your door and, not much to your surprise, found it to be already open. Heading inside to the main room you saw Sherlock huddled over some old wooden boxes with your belongings in them.

“I think he’s thrown you out.” Sherlock didn’t even look up.

"Well, at least he had the courtesy to let me live. None of the others did”

Sherlock’s head whipped round to stare at you with something in between disgust and curiosity.

You looked back, perplexed.   
“What?”

“He had others?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. It felt fun to sully Jim’s name like this. Of course, those who threw themselves at Jim died. You knew better. You were his acquaintance, and medic whenever he needed the rush. If there was something good about having a flat mate addicted to torturing the helpless, it was the practice at first aid that you got.

“Oh, so many others.”

You were left alone at this. Make note, you thought, Sherlock Holmes doesn’t like sharing.

You decided to follow him after a few minutes of figuring out what to say. You tried your best to creep up the stairs, but managed to put all your weight on the squeaky step. At this, a small sweet melody began to trail it’s way to your ears.

“You still play.”

“Of course.”

“…why?”

“I enjoy it.”

“OK, why?”

He sighed and turned away from you. After a second or two he turned back around, looking you straight in the eye.

“ I look at you, and don’t see you. I don’t see (y/n) (y/Ln) , I just see someone who needs help. A client. When I observe you, I find nothing of who you were. I observe no special talents, no strange actions, belong maybe… the actions of a jealous girlfriend. It’s confusing and I don’t like it.”

You stopped and thought about this for a moment.

“This is the closest I’m going to get to a ‘hello’ isn’t it.”

Anger burst from him in a way you never thought him capable of. It was explosive. 

“There!” He pointed right at you. “ that is not right! You don’t act like you’ve been abandoned by a man you loved for sixteen years, and left tied up in…in…there, but like someone just strolled up for a chat at a cafe! Yet it is clear that on some level you care, but you won’t admit it, will you? You are just….impossible!”

And with that he stormed out. John came crashing down from his room, thundering as he came through the door to see you stood motionless where Sherlock had left you.

“What the hell is going on in here! What…where’s Sherlock?”

He turned on you.

“You what have you… what are you doing here?!”

“I’m here because I promised I would be.”

“Oh really, you promised to return. Tell me, did you promise to drag Moriarty into it as well and make him this unhinged?”

You slapped him.

He glared at you but got the message. With one last spiteful look he turned on his heel and stormed out.

You flew down the stairs and into your flat, flung yourself on the bed and did what you always did when you were in over your head- called Jim.


	5. The whirlwind continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK! So I'm sorry for not being very consistent with any publishing, but I have been v.busy with school and home, and have just tried to get something more done before I go away tomorrow, after this, I should be being more consistent.

“I need help.”

You sat, holding your breath, waiting for the reply. He usually liked to keep people waiting, but you were his most loyal servant and oldest worker, even you might stretch to say his only friend if he allowed himself such luxuries.

“Already?”

His tone was detached, almost uninterested. He always made sure talking on the phone was exactly the same as his messages to clients who weren’t given permission to hear or see him. He talks in plain text. Waiting for me to confess everything I need to.

“He is suspicious of me; it seems my acting is not quite as good as you seemed to believe. He is almost certain there is a rat, and I don’t know how to deter him.”

There was silence for a few minutes, then-

“He seems merely confused by your presence, not doubting. I’m looking at him right now. He seems to be in tears over you. My, I thought we’d found our way to him, but this...I think you could really be of use to me.  As for your tenses, my dear, ‘seemed’ is the wrong word; ‘I seem’ would be correct, I still have hope in you. But, as for my help as you will, I have something special lined up; she should distract Holmes from you and the other Holmes from his baby brother. Perfect, really. It just requires you to stay as Holmes’ favourite beau.”

The last line seemed to have a hint of negativity behind it, not that you could figure out what it was. Resentment? Hatred? Regret? You let it slide. For now.

“Perfect, I’ll keep on top of it.”

“As I know you will, but (y/n), you mustn’t contact me often or Sherlock may truly think the worst.”

You were about to utter your understanding, when you heard his voice again, unusually humorous and chatty.

“Also, next time you have a little discussion about me, don’t try and make me out to be some sort of serial adulterer who fucks you every other night, or I may have to replace you.”

You were shocked by his sudden bouncy attitude, but decided he was probably just happy with the way things are progressing, so continued.

“Oh really, replace me with who, may I ask?”

“Hmm.” Jim pondered this for a few seconds. “How about your newbie, Moran? He seems pretty sharp.”

You both sat in silence for a few seconds before bursting out laughing.

“Oh god!” you exclaimed. “If you ever replace me with such a trigger happy fool like him, I’ll shoot you myself!”

You panicked as the words fell away from you, praying he wouldn’t kill you for making such a death-worthy comment to him. To your surprise, he just brushed it off lightly.

“Now who’s the trigger happy one? But, be careful, Holmes is about to open the door-”

You cut him off as you heard the door swing open, and footsteps begin to trail upstairs. Tossing your phone on your bed, you move over to the mirror and force a few more tears from your eyes, before quietly slipping upstairs and praying John hadn’t got to him first.

As you reach the top of the stairs you see him in the kitchen, head fully bent over a microscope as he examines another specimen. You took a few steps closer to him, not making a sound.

“Is that a trick Moriarty taught you?”

“W-what?” Confusion began to conform around you.

“The ability to make to with a few metres of me before I even notice your presence.”

You smiled to yourself. “Haven’t I always been like that?”

“How would I know, I haven’t seen you in sixteen years.”

You looked at him, hard, trying to figure out what he wanted to hear.

You gave up. “Sherlock, I don’t know what to say. I never wanted to leave you, just everybody else.”

He turned to face you, hurt built up from the past sixteen years pooling out from his eyes.

“You never change, do you (y/n) it’s always about trying to justify, I had to pick up the pieces; I was constantly pulled in by the police in search of you; I had a murder charge against me for years! I turned to heroin and cocaine once my family decided I was guilty as hell and no matter where I looked you were nowhere to be found! I gave up! On you, on them, on everyone! I turned myself to your way of thinking once they began calling me a monster as well. They never saw the bad in you, only in me. Because. You. Left. Me. Behind.”

Your face bled desperation as you frantically searched every corner of you mind to find the right words in the right sentence to say. But, the right moment passed. Sherlock sighed, reluctantly turning back to his experiment. You turned to leave when you heard a small sniff coming from where Sherlock was sat. You turned to look.

“Y’know you’ll ruin that experiment if you continue like that.”

It was a small gesture. No more fighting. Just...sorrow. He pushed himself harshly up from his chair and walked to stand in front of you. Looking up into his eyes, you felt his tears hitting your cheeks. Your own tears began to mix with them. He brought his hand to cup your cheek and the other in a form of hug around your waist. Slowly, he lifted your chin and brought his lips down to yours in a soft, desiring kiss that lasted for both eternity and mere seconds.

“I never gave up on emotions,” He whispered, “Just those from anyone who wasn’t you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, I don't hate Mormor, I just thought it was some fun banter to mess about with.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this is my first public work. I do have it on tumblr with the sane name, but I think I'm more likely to update this first. Thanks for reading it, and please leave some comments on how I could improve.


End file.
